


Maybe you should have blown it

by Eikaron



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Geralt, Bisexual Jaskier, Feral bastard Geralt, Humour, I don't always reply to comments but pls don't think I don't appreciate them all you are the best, M/M, Sex Jokes, Total Slut Jaskier, sex jokes at Jaskier's expense, why yes I did mean to turn you on it's hilarious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eikaron/pseuds/Eikaron
Summary: Jaskier has somehow persuaded Geralt to be his bodyguard at another banquet, but for once Geralt is having fun. Apparently revenge is a dish best served hot after all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 600





	Maybe you should have blown it

**Author's Note:**

> In my defense, I watched the TV series.

Geralt rolled his eyes and let out the heavy sigh Jaskier had learned to identify as resigned acceptance with a side note of grudge.

“The least you could do is make my job a little easier and point out which husbands or wives you potentially angered”, he told the bard.

“Uh, that one. Definitely that one”, said Jaskier almost immediately, surreptitiously pointing his thumb at a middle-aged man in a blue poppy coloured robe with dark brown skin, a bushy beard and a scowl to rival Geralt's. “And...that one over there.” He nodded at a fair-skinned redhead with freckles, whose face stayed mostly hidden behind the ornate peacock-feather fan that she occasionally lowered a fraction to flash Jaskier an enticing dimpled smile. That is, on every occasion the aggressive looking fellow accompanying her was looking the other way. “That's her brother I think.”

Geralt sighed again. At least a light green tunic and red curls would be easy to spot, he thought to himself as he scanned the room for any other threats and then wondered not for the first time tonight how he had let Jaskier talk him into being his bodyguard yet again.

The bard meanwhile was swivelling on the spot, pointing out face after face and counting under his breath. “Oh, that one too. And I think...yes, definitely boned _her_. And her sister, apparently. Oh dear. And – oh no. Oh no, no, no, no that's not good. See that old fella – Geralt, look, please, this is _important_ ”, Geralt reluctantly obeyed the frantic patting of his upper arm and followed Jaskier's gaze, “that old fella over there with his hair in a bun? Red coat, hooked nose? Yes? That's the Count de Cyców. Very bad, no good. If anyone asks, I've never been to Cyców in my life.”

Geralt snorted.

Jaskier sent an indignant glare his way that the witcher ignored with practiced ease and continued: “Oh, here comes another one. Did not diddle his wife for a change, but his lover. The servant over there, the blonde one with the nice butt.” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What? It's true”, said Jaskier. “Don't think I didn't see you look when he bent over.”

“Hm”, said Geralt non-committally, which Jaskier took to mean that Geralt didn't want to admit that he agreed with Jaskier, but privately thought the young man in question did, indeed, have a nice butt.

This just goes to show how little he knew Geralt. Geralt privately thought it was an _extraordinary_ butt. Which, on the other hand, just went to show that despite Geralt having several decades on him, the bard was by far the bigger slut between the two of them. Jaskier had seen a great many butts and very high standards for what constituted an extraordinary one.

“Anyway, doesn't matter”, Jaskier prattled on, “Would probably be better if I had slept with the wife to be honest, they hate each other-”

“Jaskier”, Geralt interrupted him gruffly. “Why don't you just tell me who _doesn't_ want to kill you?”

“Ah”, said Jaskier. “Yes. Great idea, Geralt. Let's see. Um. Yes, very definitely yes. Yes. Yes. Would eviscerate me on the spot. Oh, there's our first 'no'. He's not a threat.”

“He looks barely fifteen, Jaskier. The castle cat could take him on.”

“Yellow tunic too”, said Jaskier cheerfully, ignoring Geralt, “have never seen him before in my li- oh, is that his wife? She never told me she was married, the- yeah, never mind. Yes. Already threatened me tonight when you went to get us more more ale. Yes.”

The bard's eyes fell on a tall, slender woman walking past them with light brown skin and dark braids down to her waist, who was wearing a stunning red dress. Well, mostly his eyes fell on her cleavage, which accounted for large parts of the stunning. “Definitely not _her_ husband”, he said. “I'd remember.“

“Great. One husband who doesn't want to kill you out of a hundred. Has to be a record.”

“One husband who doesn't want to kill me _yet_ ”, said Jaskier, his eyes following the swaying hips.

Geralt growled, took Jaskier's shoulder in an iron grip and marched the protesting bard to a table as far away from the woman as possible.

~*~

The peace, of course, did not last. It never did with Jaskier. Geralt supposed he ought to be glad he had at least been able to take a piss without interruption.

“You're in trouble”, he said in a low voice, as he soundlessly slid onto the bench where Jaskier was – thankfully – still sitting and eating. “Unsurprisingly.”

“Who is it?”, squeaked Jaskier, dropping his bread. “Please tell me it's not the Count de Cyców.”

“No. Some jarl. Don't look up now.”

“Oh, good. Phew.”

The bard relaxed almost instantly, picked up his bread and used it to wipe the last remnants of beef broth from his bowl with gusto.

“Sho 'ow bad ish it?”, he asked between chews.

The witcher took a covert glance at the jarl eyeing them from across the room. Mikilstórr of Dupek was a heavyset man in his late forties with a square jaw, beady eyes and hair that was still full, though starting to grey at the temples. His already red skin was flushed even darker from consuming what were probably a few beers too many. Geralt had noticed him staring at Jaskier when he had returned from the privy and taken a little detour to get a read before rejoining the bard. He had not liked what he had sensed nor what he had overheard between the jarl and his servant.

But he was not here for bloodshed, so he just caught the jarl's eye and twisted his lips into a tiny, challenging smirk.

“Just play along”, he told Jaskier, who frowned and then froze when the witcher lazily put an arm around his shoulders.

“Uh. Geralt, what are you doing?”, Jaskier asked anxiously.

He wasn't afraid, but the witcher could smell the sudden spike in both nervousness and arousal, the latter of which surprised him, although only marginally. Geralt had known for a long time that Jaskier fancied his body in such a way – there were few secrets humans could keep from his enhanced senses and Jaskier was hardly subtle at the best of times – but he had not thought a simple touch would have such an effect on the man. Fascinating. He wondered if it was really because of him or if Jaskier was just especially horny tonight, but decided in the end that it did not matter: Geralt was determined to get his revenge either way.

He pulled Jaskier closer until his mouth was level with the other man's ear and brushed his lips against it. Jaskier's breath hitched imperceptibly. Imperceptible to a human anyway, but not to him. Just like Jaskier's body temperature, which had just gone up, especially in the groinal area.

Perhaps the evening would be fun after all.

~*~

“Like I said: Just play along”, the witcher murmured into his ear, ran a thumb distractingly over Jaskier's shoulder and then, _gods_ , dipped his hand even lower to stroke down along Jaskier's spine with one finger.

“At least tell me why”, Jaskier hissed and leaned into the touch, pretending to pretend to enjoy it.

“Let's just say the jarl has a different kind of interest in you and the easiest way to avoid it is by making sure he knows you're spoken for”, Geralt mumbled into his neck.

“Wait, wait! Who- which one is it?”, asked Jaskier, perking up. “Has it ever occurred to you I might be interested in said interest, Geralt?”

He reached for his cup, eyes darting around the room under the guise of looking for something to refill it with. Geralt wordlessly handed him a jug of wine and tilted his chin at a table at the far side of the room.

“I doubt it. The man in armour at the left end of the table. Just talking to a servant”, he said.

“Oh. Ugh. Yeah, no”, said Jaskier. He ripped a small piece off of his bread and buttered it vigorously. “Not interested.”

“Even if you were, Jaskier: He doesn't intend for you to enjoy it”, Geralt told him calmly, speared a piece of rabbit with his fork and ate it, as usual being disturbingly matter-of-fact over matters of life and death.

“Oh”, said Jaskier.

The thought put quite a damper on his mood, although the way Geralt's big hand was caressing his waist and lower back right now was doing a damn good job of bringing it back.

“Any idea what you did to him?”, Geralt asked him.

It was downright infuriating, found Jaskier, the way Geralt could just sit there, casually eating rabbit stew with one hand while the other was doing unspeakable things to Jaskier's nether regions. Not directly, but still.

Scowling, he waved at a passing servant to indicate that he, too, would like another bowl of soup, when he suddenly realised the witcher had been talking to him.

“Hn?”, he said, tearing his attention away from the way their knees and thighs were touching with great difficulty. “Er. No. No idea. Think I might have fucked his wife. Or daughter, I'm not sure.”

“Hm”, grunted Geralt. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, but as usual did not care to elaborate.

The servant came back, placing a fresh bowl of broth in front of Jaskier, who barely paid it any attention. Geralt had just removed his hand from Jaskier's lower back and placed it on Jaskier's thigh instead.

“Do we... do we have to keep this up all night?”, he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice from squeaking and his cock from stiffening when the other man squeezed it.

“Maybe”, replied Geralt. “Why? Are you having a hard time, Jaskier?”

The telltale little smirk, the miniscule tilt to the head, the minimal raise of his eyebrows. The tone of voice that was way, way, _way_ too smug for this choice of words to be an accident. Jaskier's mouth fell open.

“Oh you did not-”, he stuttered, flushing from head to toe. “Did you just- Geralt, you did not just make a dick joke at my expense, you, you-!”

“Hm”, said Geralt and calmly continued to eat. To anyone who did not know him his face might as well have been stone, but Jaskier had seen the way the corners of his mouth had twitched, he knew the grin was there.

Jaskier rammed his spoon into the beef broth the servant had brought him with an indignant huff – or would have if soup lent itself to ramming things into it, which it did not – and tried to stuff his mouth with bits of beef and root vegetables in a rather pathetic attempt to show Geralt how dramatically offended he was right now.

Unfortunately for Jaskier, the soup's temperature matched his temper.

“Ah, fuck, if's hot!”, he cried, spit it back out and lunged for the cup of mercifully cool wine to save his burning tongue, making an undignified mess of himself and the table in the process.

Geralt kept eating next to him, patiently waiting for Jaskier to stop flapping his hands and fanning his tongue. Once he was assured of having the bard's full attention again he reached for the wine jug and refilled Jaskier's cup.

Jaskier was just about to thank him, when Geralt caught his eye and told him drily: “Maybe you should have blown it.”

That absolute fucking bastard.

**Author's Note:**

> For additional laughs: Cyców is a real town in Poland. Since in contemporary Polish 'cyc' = tit the name reads as something like 'Titsville'. The name origins of Jarl Mikilstórr of Dupek I leave to you to figure out on your own, but you may find them similarly amusing ;) 
> 
> (Hint: Try Polish and Old Norse)


End file.
